


(Not) Dreaming of a White Christmas

by DuckInterpreter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Christmas, Christmas Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuckInterpreter/pseuds/DuckInterpreter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is stuck in a blizzard, broken down, and lost. But maybe he's going to end up exactly where he was meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) Dreaming of a White Christmas

Stiles slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.  
“Come on!” he yelled.  
The car was completely dead, despite Stiles repeated turning of the key and what he felt was some truly stellar wheel slamming. The heat was gone, and snow poured around the jeep, blowing into drifts at its side. Stiles’ breath was beginning to turn to white fog with every exhale.  
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, “goddamn, goddamn it!” he slammed the wheel once more for good measure and peered down the street he was on. He thought he could see a driveway not far down the road and could only conclude it would lead to Mike’s family’s house. It was a long, winding road and it was the first driveway he had seen in what felt like a hundred miles.  
Fuckin’ Mike, Stiles thought bitterly.  
Christmas wasn’t Stiles’ idea of a good time.  
When he was growing up it had just been him and his Dad, microwave TV dinners and a movie. They’d give eat other a present- socks from Stiles, a gift card from his dad. Then, when Stiles was in college, his Dad had remarried and that was great! Except his new wife had four kids already, and two of them had kids of their own and Christmas had become this huge event that Stiles hadn’t been a part of. He couldn’t sing along with the carolling because he didn’t know the words.  
And because he didn’t want to.  
The dinner was… big, and there was loads of mashed potato and sides and pork and pies and he was never asked to help with the cleaning up. Or the cooking. Or the decorating. Or anything, really.  
And then Mike who was, well, he was so sweet and honest and so, so stubborn and Stiles made the mistake of mentioning that he just wanted to work through Christmas and Mike wouldn’t hear of it. There weren’t too many of them, Mike had said, just his parents and grandparents, but the house was so beautiful and it always snowed on Christmas, not like in California. “Please”, Mike had said, “Please come, I know you’ll love it.”  
Stiles had thought that ‘know’ was a strong word, but he had agreed anyway. He only managed to get a short vacation from work, so it was the day before Christmas Eve, and his traitorous GPS had died about an hour before his traitorous car.  
He sat for a few moments, considering, tapping the steering wheel. He couldn’t call anyone, his phone has no reception. Finally, with a sigh, Stiles grabbed his duffel bag out of the back and began to walk.  
The wind whipped his face, and by the time he’d taken three steps his feet were starting to feel wet and cold. He suddenly remembered that he had a hole in one shoe, which improved his mood further. The storm was shaping up and he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him and was beginning to feel as though this might have been a bad idea. He wasn’t dressed for snow. He was wearing jeans and runners and a cardigan. A cardigan, for crying out loud! But he was pretty sure he was on the driveway now, and turning the corner had put his jeep out of view.  
Shivering, his arms wrapped around himself, he managed to glance up and, with great relief, saw a house. It was huge and beautiful, with a wide veranda covered with sparkling lights, and a gorgeous wreath hung over the door. Shaking so violently he had trouble making it up the steps but finally he made it to the door and knocked. Well, he thought, the shaking at least helped with that.  
There was a scuffle inside, a few voices, and then a tall, comely woman opened the door. A blast of warm hair from inside hit Stiles, who leaned into it. The woman had long dark hair with hazel eyes and, although she appeared to be in her mid to late forties, her age seemed to only add to her fine features. She smiled politely.  
“Hello,” she said, a question in her voice, “how can I help you? And what in the world are you wearing? It’s freezing out there!”  
“I’m, um, here to- I’m here for, for to see,” Stiles started to say, his teeth chattering.  
Then he passed out. 

*

“Does anyone recognise him?” a woman’s voice whispered. It was warm, Stiles’ noticed dimly through his haze. It was warm and he could feel a slight weight on him. A blanket, he thought, dimly.  
“Well I don’t. Where did he come from? He just passed out on the front step?” Another woman, maybe? Stiles wasn’t sure. He just wanted to go back to sleep. He was so warm.  
“Yes, poor thing. Jeans and a cardigan, and one of his shoes had a hole,” that kind voice was the woman who answered the door.  
Stiles opened his eyes.  
He was sprawled on a couch, in front of an honest-to-god fireplace that was merrily burning, covered in a quilted blanket. After a moment of panic he determined that yes, he was still clothes, although his shoes were gone. He couldn’t see any of the people who had been speaking so, somewhat unwillingly, he sat up.  
Three women, clearly related despite not really looking alike, hovered nearby, all holding steaming mugs.  
Stiles’ head hurt a little, but besides that he didn’t feel too bad.  
“Hello,” he said, as steadily as he could.  
The women all jumped in unison, wearing similar expressions of surprise, guilt and curiosity.  
“Hi!” The middle one said enthusiastically, after taking a moment to recover. She was the tallest, with fine blonde hair, and she collected an additional mug from a nearby table. “You’re awake! Who are you?”  
Stiles laughed, and the older woman buried her face in a hand.  
“I’m Stiles,” he said, while the woman handed him a mug. He sat up properly and the woman sat on the end of the couch. “I am assuming that this isn’t Mike’s families’ place?”  
The other two followed them and sat in nearby seats. “Mike?” The blonde woman asked.  
The older woman looked thoughtful. “I think the Clements down the road have a son called Michael,” she said.  
“Yes, that’s right!” He smiled, “I guess I undershot a little. My car broke down. I, um, thank you very much, for bringing me inside. Maybe I could borrow a phone, I don’t have any reception here on my mobile, I’m so sorry for being such a- I just want to get out of your hair, you know, you’ve already been so good and oh my gosh, is there chilli in the hot chocolate, it’s amazing, I can’t believe,” he cut himself off to take a deep sip of the steaming mug in his hands.  
The women exchanged looks and the woman who answered the door sat on a comfortable-looking brown leather armchair across from Stiles.  
“You’re more than welcome to use our phone, dear, but-,” she paused, looking at the other two, “there’s nowhere to go, I’m afraid. A terrible blizzard has kicked up and our drive and most of the road will be completely blocked by the time it dies down- which forecasters are saying won’t be for at least a couple of days.”  
Stiles blinked a few times and looked around at the women who were watching him with concern.  
“When will the roads be cleared?” he asked, dreading the answer.  
The blonde woman shrugged. “Usually they’d do it right after the blizzard, but it probably won’t get fixed up until after Christmas- the day after maybe, if we’re lucky.”  
Stiles buried his head in his hands. “You aren’t Misery-ing me are you?” he asked, muffled.  
The youngest woman, who hadn’t spoken yet, laughed a short, barking laugh.  
“You barely made it here,” she said, “feel free to look outside to check. Why, are you famous?”  
“No,” he said, with a heavy sigh, “I’m not. Is it just… you three here?”  
“Oh my goodness, I’ve been rude,” the oldest woman said, looking appalled. “I’m Talia, these are my daughters Cora,” she gestured at the shortest, who had dark hair like her mother, but much darker eyes, “and Laura.” Laura was the blonde who perched on the end of Stiles’ couch.  
“There’s also Derek, my son, Laura’s partner Lydia and their daughter Ruby, my brother Peter and his, Susan, and their two girls, Malia and Eloise.”  
Stiles stared at the woman- Talia. “Is that all in the one house? Visiting or-?”  
“We all live here,” she said, with a proud smile, “it’s a very big house. Derek, Peter, and Susan went for a walk to see if they could find your car, since we assumed you broke down?”  
Stiles nodded affirmation that, yes, he did break down.  
“So… how far down the street is the Clement’s place? If I can’t drive maybe I could just-,” he started, Talia was shaking her head.  
“I said it was not far, but that’s fairly relative I’m afraid. It’s probably another ten miles, I doubt even someone who was experienced with this kind of weather could make it. Certainly not in this storm.”  
Stiles sighed, looking over his options, which seemed to be dwindling with every moment.  
“You’re welcome to stay here, dear,” Talia said kindly, “just until you can make it there. We have plenty of space and food. We get blocked up for a few days around this time every year so we always make sure there’s more than enough put away.”  
Great, Stiles thought, Christmas with strangers, just what I wanted.  
But he forced a smile, refrained from replying that he had no choice, and nodded.  
“That would be great, thank you.”  
It was pretty late by that point, so Cora showed him to a spare room and left to let him get settled. How they had any spare rooms was beyond Stiles.  
His window was pointing towards the front of the house, and he could see that a gale was blowing, the entire landscape was covered with a thick blanket of white. He thought he could see a few people coming up the drive, but they were dim characters through the swirling white that the wind was thick with. Instead he inspected his room.  
It was comfortable, with a king-sized four-poster bed and a large dresser with a mirror. He even had a small bathroom leading off from one side, already stocked with two large cream-coloured towels. The carpet was plush under his socked feet.  
Someone had already brought his large duffel bag up and put it on his bed- he guessed it was pretty clear he’d be staying, even before he woke up. Inspecting the bed, he was almost surprised not to find pillow mints- the room was nicer than most hotels he’d stayed in.  
He realised his clothes were still damp and emptied his bag out, searching for dry clothes and, after a few moments hesitation, decided on a shower.  
The bathroom was a sink, toilet and shower, but it was tastefully decorated and the shower was roomy and had two shower heads. He let the room get steamy before he got in and unsuccessfully tried not to groan in pleasure as the streams of warm water hit him. 

* 

Derek stamped the snow off his shoes in the entryway and took off his heavy coat to hang, while his two companions did the same. His mother called from the kitchen and he followed her voice, accepting a mug of hot chocolate when he sat at the kitchen bench. Peter and Susan waved at Talia but went right upstairs to change.  
“Did you find the car?” Talia asked, after letting Derek take a deep sip.  
He nodded. “Yeah, an old Jeep I assume is his, but it’s dead. We’re pretty sure it’s the radiator but the storm was really going by then so we were rushing. Did you find out who he was?”  
“He was heading to the Clement’s place, he knows Michael -,” Cora started, cutting herself off guiltily.  
Derek winced.  
He and Michael had dated for almost two years, and it ended abruptly when Derek had suggested they move in together. It had been during a romantic weekend in Vermont and Michael had all but laughed at him, told him he didn’t think they were “that serious” and that he hadn’t been exclusive. Then he had packed and left Derek alone to pay the bill for the weekend, including every couple’s activity they didn’t attend and the two towels and bathrobe Michael had taken with him.  
“Sorry, dear,” his mother said, understanding and soft, “but his names is Stiles, and it seems like he’s staying with us for a few more days at least. What have you got there?”  
Derek glanced down at the bag at his feet. “Oh, it was in the backseat. The car wasn’t locked, so I just wanted to make sure it didn’t get taken.”  
His mother nodded absently, measuring ingredients for dinner. “Well, he’s in the guest room on the second floor if you’d like to take it and introduce yourself.”  
Derek sighed.  
He knocked on the door of their best guest room, cursing his mother for always bringing in strays at Christmas time. Last year it was a couple who had drank all the booze in their house and ultimately stolen their TV. The year before it was a young pregnant woman she had bailed out of prison for some reason and who had gone into labour on Christmas Eve. There always seemed to be at least one, quite often more. This one had passed out on the front doorstep, which was a first.  
The man who opened was door did not appear drunk, or pregnant, or like any of the other strays his mother had brought home. He was wearing one of their towels wrapped low around his hips and had wet hair and skin that glistened slightly with droplets of water.  
Derek swallowed. The man had tousled black hair and golden eyes, a chiselled jaw and broad shoulders, with muscled arms, curved hipbones and a trail of dark hair that led invitingly under his towel. Derek felt a little weak at the knees.  
“Hi,” the guy- Stiles, said, with a smile that could only be described as impish. There was a pause while they looked at each other. Stiles’ eyes dropped down Derek’s body and landed on his bag.  
“Is that the bag from my car?” he asked.  
“What? Oh. Yes, I went out to check your car because, you know, it wasn’t, it didn’t work. And this was in the back and it wasn’t locked so I thought I’d bring this in. If you don’t… need it, I could take it back… out?”  
Stiles grinned. “No, my extra socks and underwear are in there, you’re a life-saver!”  
Derek flushed and tried not to think about Stiles’ underwear. Instead he nodded curtly and left.  
Stiles watched him go, blinked twice and shrugged, taking his bag into his room and closing the door behind him. 

*

Stiles was thinking about the guy while he got dressed. The kind of a broody-looking epitome of tall, dark, and handsome guy. Not in a pervvy way, he thought, that he was naked and thinking of maybe the best-looking guy he’d ever seen. He was just. He just happened to be getting dressed. He was dressed now. Still thinking of the guy. Now he was thinking about the strange set of circumstances that had led him to apparently spend Christmas with a group of strangers.  
He idled in his room for a time and then decided to brave the rest of the house again.  
He walked into a hallway he hadn’t really taken notice of the first time around. Along the walls, at eye-level and arranged stylishly, were portraits. Stiles recognised some of them- the women who had brought him in, plus the guy who brought his bag. Stiles only just now realized he hadn’t caught the guys’ name. Someone had made tiny felt Christmas hats and stuck them on the photos so everyone looked like they were wearing pointy hats. Stiles couldn’t help but grin.  
He was a little disoriented, and ended up going upstairs before he found his way back down, and to the kitchen.  
“Stiles!” Talia was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, “I gave the Clements a call and let them know you were going to be with us for the next few days. I didn’t speak to Michael, but they sounded disappointed. Are you related?”  
Stiles shook his head, “I haven’t met them,” he said, “I’m, ah, dating Mike.”  
For some reason he glanced around before he said this, but it was only him and Talia within eyeshot.  
Talia nodded, “Well you’re welcome to give them a call too off the landline if your mobile doesn’t have reception. I just figured you’d need a shower and such and I didn’t want them to worry, that storm is so nasty.”  
She didn’t react to him dating Michael, but he had guessed that since Laura’s partner was named Lydia, it wouldn’t be a concern.  
“Can I help?” he asked, looking at the mountain of food Talia appeared to be making. Usually at this point during family gatherings he was ushered out of the kitchen to watch some sort of sport.  
“Actually,” Talia said, looking up and smiling wide, “that would be lovely. So many for dinner is quite the chore. Could you peel the potatoes?”  
Stiles grinned back and rolled up his sleeves to tackle the pile of potatoes.  
“Is this for mash?” he asked, “because you know if you cook them with the skins on they come off much more easily once you’re done?”  
Talia nodded, whipping through carrots and carefully trimming beans. “That is exactly how I make mash, yes, but these are for potato bake. I used to leave the skins on but my goodness the children would complain. I got a few years of being able to before Eloise and Ruby came along,” she laughed, “but once they were on solids they complained just like the others.”  
“How old are Ruby and Eloise?” Stiles asked, peeling swiftly and confidently.  
“Ruby is four, Lydia and Laura adopted her when she was two, and Eloise is seven. Her sister, Malia, is much older, she’s nineteen already, she’s training to do carpentry like her father. Peter and Susan waited a long time to have a second,” she chuckled.  
“So there are, what, eight people living here?” he asked, trying to remember the list of family members. He was finished peeling and Talia pushed a cutting board and knife towards him, so he started cutting them into thin slices.  
“Ten, at the moment,” Talia said.  
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, looking up at her. She smiled.  
“I’ve always loved having a full house. Laura and Lydia travel lots, so the three of them are only here for a couple of weeks at a time. Lydia does… well, none of us can quite understand her job, to be quite honest, but it involves lots of mathematics and consultation, and wherever she goes Laura goes and takes beautiful pictures. Peter and Susan and their two are usually around, but they spend a few months a year with Susan’s family. Cora is a professional snow-boarder, so she follows winter around the world. Derek’s a homebody, like me. I keep the house, and I write articles for a few magazines, but I’m here year round. So, except for holidays,” she half-smiled, “we’re almost never all here. Even when we are, we’ve got ten bedrooms, which includes two guest rooms, as well as a study, a second smaller kitchen, and a nice big library downstairs. You’ve seen the lounge, and there’s a media room, and- gosh, I’m not sure, four bathrooms? Maybe four and a half.”  
“It’s beautiful,” Stiles said, looking around at the kitchen. There were more family pictures, all decorated with hats, he was starting to get a sense of who everyone was. The kitchen was gorgeous, all marble tops and a huge island, which was where they worked. The floors were polished dark wood and Christmas decorations were draped over virtually every surface.  
Talia’s smile was bittersweet. “I bought it after my husband died. He had… considerable life insurance, and I just wanted to be with family. We all agreed and we bought this land and built the house together.”  
Stiles looked down at the food he was chopping. “I understand that. My Mom died when I was ten. But we didn’t have any other family to bring together, it was just me and my dad.”  
Talia nodded, “You’re not spending Christmas with him?”  
“No,” Stiles shook his head, “He remarried, found his big family.”  
“And there’s not really a place for you?” Talia asked kindly.  
Stiles looked at her and laughed. She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” he said, still smiling, “It’s just- I don’t really talk about my family, but here I am, telling my life story to someone I’ve just met.” He shook his head, “I’m sorry.”  
Talia had that kind, slightly sad, look on her face again. “It’s quite alright. You’re spending Christmas here, you’re as good as family. Those potatoes are beautiful! Do you cook often?”  
Stiles looked down to realize his pile of potatoes were done, “Whenever I can,” he admitted, “we used to cook together.”  
Talia didn’t ask who he was talking about, just handed him the casserole dish to layer the potatoes in. 

Derek had come downstairs somewhere in the middle of their conversation, and he leant against a doorway to watch the young man and his mother. Stiles had his sleeves rolled up, showing off strong forearms and hands with long fingers that deftly peeled, then cut, potatoes. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about but Stiles had a soft look in his eyes, and was half-smiling.  
Somehow Derek found this as alluring as seeing the man in just a towel, and with his face hot and a flush reddening his ears and the chest that could be seen above his hand-knitted jumper, he retreated back into his study.  
Talia saw him both come and go, and said nothing, just hummed a little while she finished the vegetables and checked the meat. 

The dining room was huge, the table seated fifteen people, so, although the whole family was present, there was plenty of room.  
Peter and Susan sat with their youngest daughter between them. Susan greeted Stiles and Peter nodded, then they turned their attention back to the little girl who was refusing to eat the broccoli.  
“It’s your favourite,” Susan said, holding a piece on a small plastic fork, “you had a whole bowl of it yesterday!”  
Eloise shook her head resolutely and Stiles hid a grin.  
Ruby sat between Laura, who smiled at Stiles, and a gorgeous redheaded woman. She was exactly his type, Stiles thought, as she debated hotly with Peter about the economics of continuing the Olympics. Long hair, impeccably presented, with perfect make-up and designer clothes and from the way she was debating with Peter, Stiles got the feeling she took exactly zero shit. Usually, he’d swoon. But now, watching her debate while keeping one arm around her daughter, and a hand on Laura’s arm while she ate, he just smiled and felt a little warm.  
The only silent member at the table, aside from Stiles, was Derek, who sat beside Stiles. Their shoulders brushed every now and again and Stiles tried to ignore how aware of that we was. Everyone seemed to simply accept Stiles’ presence.  
“So,” Derek said, clearing his throat a little, in a voice that was loud enough to hear over the other conversations, but quiet enough that it was clearly only for Stiles, “it looks like it’s your radiator that died, it was probably the cold.”  
Stiles sighed, “I’m not surprised, I’ve had Betty since forever, she’s just been waiting for the worst possible moment to die on me.”  
“Betty?”  
“That’s her name, the Jeep. I kind of got her when I was ten, so I named her and it stuck.”  
“I like it,” Derek said, smiling into his food, “Hopefully tomorrow when the storm clears I can get Suse to bring it up the driveway, she’s got a truck. I think I can get it going again.”  
Stiles smiled, wide and bright and genuine, “You’re kidding! That would be amazing. So are you a mechanic?”  
“Not professionally, I just tinker,” he shrugged.  
“Well, if you can save my Betty’s life you’ll be my hero. Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”  
“No, it’s fine. It’ll give me something to do,” Derek glanced up to see Cora watching him shrewdly, and he quickly looked back down at his dinner.  
“Okay, so which game are we playing before dessert?” Malia asked loudly, over the general din.  
There were a few beats of silence.  
Then everyone spoke at once.  
“Monopoly!” Lydia said.  
“Cluedo?” Talia asked.  
“Monopoly was a bloodbath last time, dear,” Laura shook her head, “What about scrabble?”  
“I don’t remember it being that bad,” Lydia said, flicking her hair over her shoulder.  
“That’s because the blood came from everyone else as they fell at your feet,” Peter said, “I don’t mind scrabble, but I think we’ve got too many for Cluedo. My vote is for jenga.”  
“We have too many for jenga too!” Susan laughed, “Maybe a card game?”  
“I know,” Talia said. Everyone went quiet and turned to her, “We’ll just have a few small games. There’s plenty of space in the media room for everyone. But no monopoly,” she said, looking directly at Lydia with an arched brow, “and Stiles dear, you’re welcome to join but also free to wander elsewhere before dessert, or to skip dessert altogether although I feel compelled to tell you that it’s chocolate ripple cake.”  
Stiles finished chewing, his face a little red, as everyone’s eyes turned to him. “No, no I’ll play l- uh, I like battleship.”  
“Derek!” Cora exclaimed, “No-one will ever play battle ship with you and now you have your partner!”  
Derek glared at Cora but took a deep breath and turned to Stiles. “I guess, if you wanted-,”  
“That’d be great,” Stiles said, softly.  
For a moment, the entire table studied the two of them, and then, almost as one, they continued with their conversations. 

 

*

Stiles beat Derek three times in a row at battleship and then they made popcorn and cranberry strings to put around the house. After that they ate the cake and drank eggnog.  
Somehow the conversation turned to childhood memories and it seemed like everyone had a story to tell Stiles. About the first time Cora rode a snowboard and fell straight on her face, and the time Derek decided he wanted to be a wolf and slept in the woods all night while everyone at home panicked. About when Derek first started to work on cars and he completely ruined his Dads’ Camaro (which he did later to fix, to be fair, Derek told him with a scowl at everyone else), and how Peter kind of creeped everyone out before he met Susan. How Derek grew up over one summer and five girls asked him out on the first day of senior classes, and how Laura was Lydia’s teachers’ aide and that was the only reason Lydia gave her the time of day to begin with, and also how Derek was the best babysitter for all the children when they were little and they would climb all over him like a jungle gym.  
With every story about him Derek turned more and more flushed and Stiles couldn’t help but watch with amusement.  
It was well after midnight when, more than a little tipsy off eggnog, Stiles stumbled up the stairs to his room. He stood in the hallway for a minute, staring at the row of identical doors with confusion.  
“Third on the left?” he muttered, “or… second on the right? Is there a fourth on the left, maybe that’s it?”  
“Second on the left,” said a low, husky, voice from right behind him.  
Stiles jumped and turned, finding himself looking up at Derek, the couple of inches height gap feeling much wider. Somehow they were standing so close they were almost touching and several long moments passed, just looking at each other. Derek licked his lips and, with great effort, Stiles stepped away.  
“Thanks,” he said, quietly.  
He closed his door behind him and leaned against it heavily, and Derek’s dark eyes followed him the whole while. 

*

“No, I think the roads are pretty blocked,” Stiles said, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear, “I know the storm’s over but I’m still stuck.”  
He was attempting to make the bed and talk to Michael at the same time and kind of succeeding.  
“Aww, I miss you too,” he said, pulling at a crease. He paused while Michael talked for a minute and surveyed the bed.  
“What? No, the Hales seem great, they were really nice about me staying here and the house is amazing.”  
He was about to fluff one of the pillows when he straightened and frowned, listening.  
“It is not a creepy old house in the woods, they just built it-,” he started.  
“How do I know? I know because Talia told me.”  
“Yesterday, while we made dinner,” he replied, “What, I’m not an indentured- you’re being ridiculous.”  
He was beginning to scowl.  
“I think that you’re the one being rude, Mike, they’re being really kind and they seem great and-,”  
He growled.  
“Yes, Michael, I planned to break down in the middle of nowhere so I could spend the holidays with a bunch of people I don’t know instead of you, obviously that was my plan!” Stiles’ voice dripped with sarcasm, “Could you just stop?”  
The reply was short and Stiles’ voice became even more clipped.  
“Yeah okay, well there’s nothing I can do about it so I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”  
He hung up, jabbing the button hard and throwing the phone on the well-made bed. 

He ran into Derek in the hallway, still seething, but Derek was holding Ruby and he blushed when he saw Stiles which cheered him up a bit.  
“What are you guys doing today?” Stiles asked him, waving to Ruby, who hid her face in Derek’s shoulder.  
“Oh, well, it’s Christmas Eve,” Derek said, patting Ruby’s curly hair, “and the storm’s cleared, so I think we’re doing outdoor stuff this morning, and then more hot drinks, and we’re all making our ornament for the tree.”  
“Gingerbread houses!” Ruby lifted her head for a moment to chime in, and then buried it back into Derek’s shoulder.  
“Oh, yes, the gingerbread houses, how could I forget,” Derek smiled, “but before all that, breakfast. Will- uh, will I see you downstairs for breakfast?”  
Stiles nodded, and the watched Derek as he carried Ruby downstairs, murmuring to her the whole way. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

Breakfast was a little less of an event. There was almost as much food, but everyone seemed to come and go, loading up a plate and then wandering off somewhere else to eat. By the time Stiles got down there was no sign of Derek, although Ruby sat with Lydia and let her cut up her food.  
Stiles looked at the table, laden with fruits, stacks of pancakes, toast, bacon, eggs, jugs of juice and coffee and considered making himself something. Instead, his stomach churning a little, he poured a cup of black coffee and wandered off. 

Derek found him on the veranda his phone in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He was looking down at his lap, a line between his brows. He looked desolate there, on the two-seater alone, picking up his phone, frowning even more, then putting it back down. Derek hesitated, a cup of coffee in each hand. Stiles’ phone dinged and he looked down at it, a small, soft, smile appearing on his face. Derek’s stomach twisted and he shook his head and walked back inside. 

*

The day had dawned bright and clear, for all that it was still freezing. A white blanket lay over everything, pristine and untouched, like something you’d see on a postcard. From behind a tree Malia popped out, threw a snowball that hit Peter square in the face, and then disappeared again. Then the games were on. People- not just the kids, screamed and ran around, throwing clumps of snow at one another. Lydia and Talia built a snowman together, and Ruby lay flat on her back, her arms and legs flailing.  
“I’m making a snow angel,” she announced to no-one in particular.  
Lydia left her snowman to investigate, helping Ruby up without disturbing the imprint on the ground. From where Stiles was, up on the veranda, the shape looked decidedly amorphous.  
“Beautiful,” Lydia said to Ruby, “It looks exactly like an angel.”  
Stiles was watching, not sure he wanted to get involved, despite his best friend Scott’s messages earlier cheering him up somewhat. Cora was nowhere to be seen, he noticed, he guessed she had a slope nearby she took advantage of on clear days.  
He went inside. 

He found Derek there, stacking pieces of gingerbread, fresh from the oven. He also stirred two big pots that were gently simmering on the stove.  
“Mmm,” Stiles said, leaning against the kitchen island, “that smells amazing.”  
Derek jumped. “Oh! Hey. It’s, uh, the pieces of gingerbread for the houses, plus a big pot of hot chocolate and a pot of spiced cider.”  
“Oh, yum, anything ready to drink?”  
“The cider is done, but it’s a bit alcoholic, is that okay?”  
“So you guys are basically drunk for the whole lead up to Christmas, huh?”  
Derek laughed, “Pretty much, but if you’re happy to wait a minute I can give you hot chocolate. I’ll even skip the Kahlua and whiskey.”  
“No, hit me with the cider,” Stiles moved around the island and found a mug that was hanging on a tree near the stove.  
Derek stirred the closest pot once more with a huge ladle and filled the mug Stiles held out for him, both hands wrapped around it. For the second time they were inches apart, and Stiles looked up at Derek and took a deep sip.  
“It’s hot,” Derek said, his voice low.  
“Yeah,” he murmured, and licked his lips, “it’s good, though.”  
“Thanks,” Derek reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Stiles’ eyes.  
“Thanks,” Stiles repeated. Derek’s eyes were a beautiful colour, he thought, a little giddily. Green and blue and gold.  
“I-,” Derek started, leaning a little closer.  
“Derek!” the front door slammed open and they jumped apart like startled rabbits, the cider sloshing on Stiles’ shirt. He swore, but it was drowned out by more shouting from the entryway, “Could you bring the towels down. We’re soaked and freezing, Malia dumped poor Ellie in a pile of snow, are the drinks done?”  
Stiles, face beet red, grabbed the pile of folded towels sitting on a chair.  
“Are these-?”  
“Yeah,” Derek said, nodding quickly, “Drinks are done!” he yelled.  
Stiles hurried away. 

“You got some of Derek’s famous cider first!” Laura said, good-naturedly, when Stiles passed her the towels. Stiles smiled and looked down at the wet patch on his shirt.  
“I think maybe it got me,” he smiled, “I might go up and get changed,” he gestured towards the stairs and she nodded and accepted the pile.  
“We’re doing gingerbread houses after we’re all changed, you should come!” she said.  
He nodded and retreated.  
Once his door was closed behind him he took a deep breath and shakily ran his hands through his hair.  
“New shirt,” he muttered, digging through his suitcase. If the green jumper he picked hugged his figure a little more, and brought out his eyes, well- it was also warm and comfortable. Or so he told himself. 

Stiles built a gingerbread house, ostensibly with Cora, but basically on his own while Cora watched videos on her phone. It was a mess until he started watching Laura and Lydia and copying everything they did. Every now and again he’d glance at Derek, who was working with Ruby. Sometimes Derek would be looking at him and they’d both look away, blushing.  
By the time the houses were done it was getting dark. They arranged them on the mantle, each one getting its own special place. Derek and Ruby’s barely stood up, but was completely covered in candy. Lydia and Laura’s was almost perfect, with shingles piped on in icing, windows carefully carved out, even a marshmallow snowman on the lawn. Stiles’ resembled a house, and for that he was glad. Susan and Peter’s was multi-coloured and so covered in candy and icing it looked like the house from Hansel and Gretel. Malia had drawn what Susan called “inappropriate decorations” on hers and wasn’t allowed to display it.  
All together on the mantle they looked beautiful, and once placed Talia dusted them all with icing sugar to resemble snow. Everyone clapped. Stiles grinned and clapped, but he also felt hollow in his stomach. These people weren’t his family. His family didn’t even have traditions like this, so he didn’t know why it was making him feel homesick. He wondered what his Dad was doing.  
It was getting late by this point and Talia pulled out a sheaf of take-away menus. Another tradition, she told Stiles.  
They decided on Chinese, and it seemed like they ordered the whole menu, Peter and Susan driving to get it.  
They ate themselves silly, and then the kids went to bed, followed by Peter, Susan and Talia. Lydia had a business thing so she left for a skype meeting.  
Laura disappeared and came back with a bottle in each hand, tequila and whiskey. Cora clapped and found some mixers and they settled around for drinking games.  
“It’s pretty much like you said,” Derek said to Stiles, taking a shot of tequila and following it with a mouthful of whiskey and coke, “we pretty much drink till new year.”  
“Oh!” Laura said, “It’s such a shame you won’t be here for New Years! We have fireworks and a huge bonfire and almost everyone in town comes and it’s so great.”  
“Okay so Stiles,” Cora said, in a way that made Stiles suspect she may have been spiking her own drinks for a while already, “what’s the deal? You straight? Gay?”  
Stiles laughed. “Cora!” Laura scolded, “We don’t even know him.”  
“This is how we get to know him,” Cora argued.  
“No, it’s okay,” Stiles said, glancing at Derek, “but I’m neither, I’m bi.”  
“Ooh, a modern man,” Cora giggled.  
“Not that modern,” Laura shook her head, “since so is Lydia.”  
“But it seems, you know, more normal for girls,” Cora shrugged.  
“That’s super offensive,” Laura rolled her eyes, but still looked fond.  
“So, Michael is-?” Cora prodded.  
“My… boyfriend,” Stiles took a long drink and didn’t look at Derek.  
“Derek, didn’t you and Michael-?” Cora started, before Laura prodded her, hard.  
“Briefly,” Derek said shortly.  
“Two years,” Cora muttered.  
Stiles’ eyes widened and he frowned, but he didn’t push it.  
Laura changed the subject and they merrily finished most of the two bottles. Laura dramatically retold how she met Lydia, who had been in the philosophy class Laura was the TA in.  
“Lydia,” Laura sighed, flopping into an armchair, her legs slung over one arm, “she was smarter than the teacher, and she only wanted anything to do with me because I gave her out her grades early.”  
Cora snorted and Derek shook his head, “No way, she wanted you from the start.”  
Laura flipped a dismissive hand at him and closed her eyes, “Isn’t she the prettiest?”  
“She is very pretty,” Stiles nodded. The room spun a little, he noted distantly from where he lay on the ground. He hadn’t been this drunk since Scott’s wedding.  
“Is she your type?” Cora, who had started out the drunkest, seemed to have stayed at the same level of intoxication all night.  
Stiles shrugged, “I always did go for girls who bossed me around. She seems bossy,” he told Laura, who nodded, her eyes still closed and face dreamy.  
“Usually, I guess yeah. But I don’t date girls often,” he shrugged again.  
“So what kind of guy do you go for?” Cora prodded.  
“Hmm,” Stiles hummed while he considered. “I’ve always had a thing for guys who look like they could beat me up,” he paused and Laura giggled.  
“You just like to be pushed around,” she said.  
“No, no, it’s not that. I like to argue,” He told her, “big guys, sarcastic, but not as sarcastic as me. Smart. Good with kids. I don’t much go for blondes,”  
“Isn’t Michael blonde?” Cora interjected.  
“Nice eyes,” Stiles finished, ignoring Cora’s interruption.  
There was a few beats of quiet. Cora thought it sounded like he was describing someone in particular, Derek was brooding over Michael having been mentioned again, and Laura was still silently mooning over Lydia. Stiles was trying to figure out why Mike didn’t fit what he’d just described.  
“Bed time!” Cora announced, “It’s almost midnight, Mom will be down soon to set up the presents and you know she won’t do it with us here.”  
They stumbled up the first flight of stairs together then went their separate ways. Derek and Stiles were walking side by side, bumping into each other occasionally and smiling quietly to themselves.  
When they got to Stiles’ door, Derek reached around him to open it.  
“Just in case you forgot again,” he said, smile wide.  
Stiles was momentarily trapped in the circle of Derek’s arms and he turned around to look up at him once again.  
“I wish…,” he said softly.  
‘Yeah,” Derek breathed.  
Then he leant down slightly, closing the gap between them, and pressed his lips against Stiles’. They were warm and soft and it was a chaste kiss by anyone’s standard. But when he pulled away Stiles was breathless and when Derek finally stepped back and walked to his room Stiles didn’t move for a long time. 

*

Stiles was woken up by a sharp rap on the door. Groaning, he rolled over and checked the clock. It was a little after six.  
“Yeah,” he said, groggily, sitting up. His head ached and he felt a little sick.  
Talia opened the door a crack and peeked in, “Stiles! I’m sorry to wake you,” she said, apologetic, “but the plow came, and your car is running again, so you can make it to the Clements for Christmas!”  
“Oh,” Stiles said, blinking, “Oh. Great! I guess I’ll just pack and…,”  
Talia beamed, “I’ll make sure you have some coffee!” 

When Stiles dragged himself downstairs, everyone was in the lounge, gathered around the tree which was covered with presents. Talia passed Stiles a steaming travel mug and Laura and Cora came and gave him hugs.  
“I think you’re my favourite of Mom’s Christmas strays so far,” Laura told him quietly while her arms were around him.  
Most everyone else was occupied with presents, although they waved and smiled. Stiles paused, hoping for a moment to talk to Derek, but he didn’t make a move to leave the full lounge. So, throat feeling a little strange and raw, Stiles left, hauling his two bags out the veranda to find Betty sitting out the front.  
She started up as smoothly as the day Stiles had gotten her- smoother even- and if Stiles was disappointed, well, he was the only one to see it. 

The Clements place was only another five minutes down the road, although a deep dip separated the two, which was probably one of the helping factors to the road block.  
Their house was nice. It looked small to Stiles, though, and the outside wasn’t decorated. Stiles had seen a thousand other houses like it, not like the tall, sprawling Hale place, where every tree glittered and… he shook his head. It was time to meet Mike’s family, he thought, with a deep breath. 

When he knocked a young girl in her pyjamas answered.  
“Mike,” she yelled, without greeting Stiles, “You’re boyfriend’s here, finally.”  
She walked away and Stiles stood alone on the deck for a minute before Mike came down the stairs.  
He was almost exactly the same height as Stiles, which Stiles had liked to begin with. He was already dressed, and his hair was combed and he hugged Stiles as though they hadn’t had an unresolved argument yesterday.  
“I’m so glad you made it!” Michael said, but his smile was cold, distant.  
“I-,” Stiles paused, “I didn’t know you dated Derek,” he blurted.  
Michaels face fell. “For a little while, like a hundred years ago,” he shrugged and sneered, “why, what did he say about me? Did he say I cheated on him, because we weren’t exclusive and-,”  
“He didn’t say anything, except that you dated for two years and why wouldn’t you mention that yesterday? And how can you be non-exclusive with someone you’ve been with for two years!?”  
Michael opened his mouth to reply- something, but Stiles interrupted him. “No, no, it’s okay. This wasn’t working out, really. I think I’ll just… go.”  
They were silent for a second and then Stiles nodded, picked up his bags, and walked back down the stairs. 

*

Derek was staring at his cinnamon-chilli hot chocolate that Cora had spiked with whiskey and Laura had put two marshmallows into. The family was singing carols, the kids had a pile of presents that surrounded each of them, and he had a beautiful tablet from his mother and gift cards from his sisters. It was Christmas morning and he was supposed to be happy but he wasn’t. He didn’t know what he was expecting. That Stiles would stay? That this guy who he’d only known for two days would stick around?  
He just thought he’d have another day.  
What kind of plowman worked on Christmas morning? He thought aggressively. It was ridiculous, they should have a union or something that meant they didn’t have to work on holidays. He should call someone and complain about the unfair treatment because it was Christmas and everyone deserved to spend Christmas with the people they cared about and now, now this… plow guy, couldn’t.  
He closed his eyes and sighed.  
Because his eyes were closed, he didn’t see the Jeep pull back up outside, and because he was lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear the room go silent or, one by one, everyone leave. He didn’t hear the front door open, because he was drafting a letter of complaint to whoever ran the plow union.  
What he did hear was,  
“Derek?” 

Very slowly, Derek opened his eyes. The room was empty, except for Stiles, who stood in the middle of it like some kind of Christmas angel. Derek stood up and took a tentative towards him.  
“What are you- are the roads blocked again?” he asked, his heart in his throat.  
Very slowly, Stiles smiled. “No,” he said, “I think the roads are all clear now.” 

They closed the space between them at the same time and collided together. Stiles kissed him with all the feeling he had fought to keep pent up since he had arrived, his hands around Derek’s waist as though to keep him from moving away. Derek’s hands cupped Stiles’ face as they pulled apart, kissed again, stopped for a moment to stare at each other, both as filled with wonder as the other, and then came together to kiss again.  
“Why?” Derek asked, once he had caught his breath. He searched Stiles’ face for answers but found nothing. Then Stiles grinned, bright and wide.  
“Because you make me love Christmas,” he said simply. 

* 

“Dad! I know it’s a long drive!” Stiles said, “But it’s worth it.”  
John sat in the passenger seat of Stiles’ car, which had carols playing and a gingerbread air freshener, with his arms crossed. John’s car, which was filled with his wife and step-children, was coming up the rear in a minivan, and Scott and Allison’s behind that. Stiles was smiling, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along with the song that was playing, unperturbed by John’s scowl.  
“Better be,” he grumbled, “Why couldn’t they just come to our place?”  
Stiles grinned, “You’ll get it when you see the place, believe me. Scott and Allison and both of their kids are coming,” he wheedled.  
John had always had a soft spot for Scott, who Stiles always thought his father may have preferred as a son. Of course, it was Scott who dragged Stiles into trouble almost as often as it was Stiles who dragged Scott, so he figured it was just a case of greener grass.  
It was snowing, but nothing like the blizzard he had driven through on this same road, exactly a year ago. Betty still purred like a kitten thanks to Derek’s consistent ‘tinkering’.  
Stiles was pretty sure the frame was the only part he hadn’t replaced, although he had repainted, taking several months to find the exact right shade of blue.  
“And everyone’s going to fit?” John asked, for the third time.  
“Yes!” Stiles exclaimed, “There were already ten rooms, but after I moved in they decided to add a whole other wing, with an extra kitchen and everything.” 

When the convoy of three cars all pulled up, pretty much the entire Hale family rushed outside to greet them. Talia hugged John and his wife, Harriet, as though they were already family, and everyone helped with bags. Derek, however, ignored the bags and rushed right for Stiles, wrapping strong arms around him and picking him up to kiss him.  
“I missed you,” he said, brushing a hand over Stiles’ hair, pushing it out of his eyes.  
“It’s only been three days,” Stiles laughed.  
Derek kissed him until Stiles was breathless. “I missed you,” he whispered.  
Stiles just smiled up at him, then turned back to his father, who was staring at the house with his mouth open.  
“Pretty nice, huh?” Stiles asked, smug.  
John shrugged, “It’s an alright place I guess. I mean, I suppose it’s kind of,” he waved a hand at it.  
Stiles laughed and picked up his bags, throwing one to Derek.  
“Come see inside,” he told his father, “there’s hot chocolate!”

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: Omg i posted this like a fortnight ago and I JUST realized I forgot to include a mistletoe scene! God it was going to be so awful and cliche. I apologize to everyone for forgetting this. Just imagine that this year Derek hangs mistletoe in every doorway and constantly snags Stiles to kiss him every time he goes anywhere, okay? Thanks.


End file.
